Subject: Rear View Mirror (1/?) Date: Thu, 30 Jan 2003 15:54:34 -0800 From: Daomir Darkfell To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Rear View Mirror: a Forever Knight story By April French Author's Note: I had absolutely no intention of writing this story... until I decided that I wanted to enter the Raven Awards, and realized that I had nothing that qualified me to enter. So I wrote this. The moral of the story: memories may not be able to hurt us, but they can haunt us. This story takes place following the first season episode "Feeding the Beast." Christopher Herbert, Shosha, and Winter belong to me. Forever Knight and Bela Lugosi do not. Damn. Many thanks to K.C. Smith and The Wanlorn for their hard work in beta-ing this story. Praise, comments and kudos all gratefully accepted and stored in gold-plated cigar cases with sunbursts on their lids. Flames will be returned with complementary mustard gas. This story will be archived at my website, http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/fkficindex.html along with all the others. Please do not archive without my permission, which can be easily obtained by bribing me with strangely-accented Hungarian actors with stubborn personalities. ~~~ "If ye break faith with us who die, we shall not sleep." -- John McCrae (1915) "Pro patria, non dulce, non et decor." (Latin) -- For one's native land, not sweetly, not gloriously. -- Ezra Pound (1920) ~~~ Rear View Mirror - Part One It was her night off, and Natalie Lambert had found one thousand and one things to do with the lack of corpses to dissect: vacuum, dust, clean the bathroom, change Sidney's litter box... And now that it was all finished, she was going to indulge in a book, a sinfully long bath, then fall into bed and sleep the nighttime hours away like a normal human being-- When the phone rang. "Hi, Nat," said Nick, disgustingly cheerful. "I've been awake for hours. Are you coming over soon?" Internally, Natalie groaned. She had completely forgotten. It was one of those rare occasions when she and Detective Nick Knight had the same night off, and Nick had asked her over for a movie. She had really been looking forward to that bath... but Nick had been down in the dumps lately and he always looked forward to their 'dates.' "I'll be over in twenty minutes," Nat said, covering quickly. "What movie?" "Um... how about you pick tonight? See you in a bit." When she got to the twenty-four hour video store, Nat found herself passing by her favorite Godzilla movies and comedies and going to the horror section. Generally speaking, Nick tended to avoid vampire movies unless he was in one of his more despondent moods, but he seemed in a fairly good state tonight, if his voice was anything to go on, and besides which, Nat felt like a watching a vampire movie. "Hmm. 'Lost Boys'? Nah. 'Fearless Vampire Killers'? Definitely not. 'House of Dark Shadows'? Nope, better not." Too many parallels to their own situation. "'Buffy the Vampire Slayer.' What the heck??" Natalie just put that one down. "I don't even want to know. Better to go with a good old standby." She scooped up the 1931 version of 'Dracula' and quickly paid the boy behind the counter before she could change her mind. *** BANG! Nick ducked and dove for cover from the sudden explosion. "I," he coughed, crawling out from under the kitchen table and picking carbon-flavored popcorn from his hair, "hate cooking technology." He stared ruefully at the smoldering remains of his microwave. So much for fresh-popped buttery goodness. Nick swept the tangled metal mess and all the shrapnel into the garbage. Digging in the back of a cupboard, Nick pulled out his emergency stash: pre-popped, buttered and bagged. "Eh, it's the thought that counts." He tore open the bag and dumped the contents into a bowl just as the elevator hummed to life. "Hi, Nat," he greeted, hoping that the smell of burned microwave wasn't too overpowering to mortal noses. "Hey, Nick..." Natalie shed her purse and coat, and sniffed. "Nick, what is that?" "Popcorn." "I meant that smell." "Popcorn," persisted Nick stubbornly, standing in front of the garbage can. Natalie looked at him curiously and shrugged. "Okay, have it your way," and relieved him of the bowl. Relieved, Nick dropped a friendly peck on Nat's cheek, which, as it was now full of popcorn, made her look pleasantly like a chipmunk. "So, what movie did you pick?" Natalie, still attacking the snack food, gestured to where her things were piled on the table. "Bit hungry, are we?" "I didn't stop to have dinner." "Aw, Nat." "What?" Nick held up the videotape with a mock pout on his face. "Why did you have to pick this?" "Because it's a classic and 'cause we both like Bela Lugosi." Bela Lugosi notwithstanding, Nick had his own reasons for disliking this particular production. But seeing that she was not going to take no for an answer, he capitulated. "Oh well." Then Nick grinned mischievously. "At least it's not about a forty-foot gorilla," he teased, and ended up with a face full of popcorn for his wittiness. Natalie snuggled comfortably in a corner of the couch while Nick set up the tape. He plopped into his favorite leather chair and tossed Natalie the remote control. "Torture away." But as the title card flickered on the television screen and the eerie strains of 'Swan Lake' filled the loft, Nick had a flash of inspiration. "You know," he said conversationally, "I knew Dracula." Natalie blinked. "You did?" "Oh, yeah. The prince, not the actor." "O... kaaay... What was he like?" "Neurotic. The guy was nuts. But he was no vampire." "Huh." Natalie frowned, as Renfield bumped through Borgo Pass. "That's really kind of disappointing." "He was too depraved even for LaCroix's tastes. Think about it. It's hard for a vampire to admire someone whose favorite method of execution is staking and exposure to the sunlight. But he had his morals, I'll give him that much." Nick chuckled. "He would've hated all the Hollywood nonsense. I mean, who wouldn't? It's degrading." "Okay, Nick. That's enough..." "LaCroix met Bela Lugosi once," he continued, oblivious. "In his opinion, Lugosi was--" "Nick! All right, all right, I get the idea. But I am trying to watch the movie." Nick suffered in silence until Bela emerged from his coffin. "What atmosphere," Nat murmured. "Tod Browning was a genius." "Actually, the cinematographer, Karl Freund, was responsible for most of the directing--" "Nick..." "--which is really amazing, considering that he was German and spoke almost no English--" "Nick!" Natalie aimed a ball of buttery yellow missiles at her companion. "I'm warning you..." "Okay!" Nick laughed. "Okay, I'll shut up." And for the most part, he did, confining his remarks to aping Lugosi ("The blood is the life, Dr. Lambert." "I never drink... wine... unless I know the donor.") and making fun of the special effects ("Watch out for the rubber bat!" "Why are Van Helsing's glasses made from the bottoms of beer bottles?"), and Natalie was able to eat her popcorn instead of defending her cultural preferences with it. Nick displayed no visible reaction to the crosses shown on the screen, she noted for future references, and he actually seemed to stifle a derisive giggle when Van Helsing outwitted the Count with the mirrored box. Mirrors, he had once told her, were the least of his worries. "You know," Nick said at one point, when Dracula was just bending over the sleeping Lucy, "Universal Studios spent good money for this solid and provocative dramatization of a literary classic. And then, they had to follow time-honored Hollywood tradition, and throw the thing away." "Nick!" Natalie exclaimed, annoyed. "Quit it. You're ruining the mood!" "Aw, come on!" Nick gestured at the screen. "He doesn't even have any teeth! Stoker got a lot of things wrong but at least that wasn't one of them!" But at other times, he was thoughtful, with his fingers rubbing at his upper lip as they always did when he was pensive, and he paid particular attention to certain snippets of dialogue. "'Pass a cup to the dead already, hurrah for the next who die...'" "'To die. To be really dead. That must be glorious.'" "'There are far worse things awaiting man than death.'" Natalie came to the realization that, while there was much about vampires that Bram Stoker and Tod Browning might have gotten wrong, there were certain things in 'Dracula' that struck a very deep chord within her friend. When the movie was over, Nick didn't move. "Nick?" She watched carefully as his chest rose and fell once. He had fallen asleep, from boredom no doubt. Natalie rolled her eyes. "Cretin." She moved quietly to his side, and hesitated for a moment before succumbing to temptation. She softly brushed a dark gold curl from his forehead. Nick stirred slightly and she pulled back. There was no point, Natalie decided, in going home and watching the movie over again. It was short enough, only an hour long, but somehow, she doubted she would ever look at 'Dracula' quite the same. She would take the video back tonight. End Part One April French daomir_darkfell@yahoo.com ===== ~Forever Knight: The Sons of Lilith~ http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/fkficindex.html ~The Corvina~ http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/index.html "And we shall exist by amusing ourselves, by dreaming of monstrous loves and fantastic universes, by complaining and quarreling with the pretenses of the world..." --"The Flash of Lightening" by Arthur Rimbaud __________________________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Yahoo! Mail Plus - Powerful. Affordable. Sign up now. http://mailplus.yahoo.com Subject: Rear View Mirror (2/?) Date: Thu, 30 Jan 2003 15:58:12 -0800 From: Daomir Darkfell To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Disclaimers in first post. Rear View Mirror (2/?) It was a very cloudy night. The dark clouds hung over Toronto like a smothering blanket, pressing down with persistent urgency. Dry and windless, which was perfect for what he had in mind, but cloudy. Too bad. He sighed. "All right, no stars tonight." A pity. He so enjoyed the stars. Too bad. He pulled out a rag and gave his piece a perfunctory rub as a woman with chestnut hair walked into the twenty-four hour video rental place. He had picked this building for its excellent view of the surrounding streets and shops. Now he was just waiting for a good opportunity to present itself... He lay quietly on his stomach upon the gravel-covered roof, and had a pleasant argument with himself about which business he should concern himself with first. The burger place was a pretty strong contender, but eventually he decided on the video place. It had all-glass fronts, which he liked, and best of all he could just make out the cashier, sandwiched between the huge 'Apocalypse Now' and 'Beauty and The Beast' posters. A bit of a challenge, but he liked a challenge. The stock of the piece nestled against his shoulder like a baby's head. He put his eye to the telescopic sight and lined it up with the cash register boy. *** "Back so soon, Doctor?" asked Theo, the night clerk. "Didn't you just rent this a few hours ago?" "I finished it," Nat replied, handing over the video. "And my friend didn't appreciate it." "Aw, nobody likes the classics these days." "Tell me about it." In movies, when something sudden and violent happens, directors and cameramen have a tendency to film the action in slow motion, to make the resulting images more dramatic, more horrifying. Less real. Natalie had never thought that life would imitate art in that respect. But when she had to think about that night, the shattering glass flying at her in a flurry of sharp snowflakes, instinct throwing her to the floor even as she saw Theo drop like a stone, she could never remember anything having happened in real time. Every image was as frozen and slow as a frame of film. *** Schanke checked his watch for the fifth time in two minutes. "Man, oh man, time does not fly." He looked up just in time to see his partner go barreling by. "Whoa, Nick! Hang on!" He just managed to catch Nick by the waistband of his jacket. "Where is she, Schanke?" Nick demanded, his cobalt eyes very dark. "Why didn't you call me?" "Keep cool, Knight. I called you as soon as I got here. Now, relax. The doctors are in there with Nat right now. She's okay, the bullet didn't get anywhere near her. She's a little cut up from the glass, but she's gonna be fine. And she's gonna be fine even sooner, provided you and let the docs do their job." Nick looked towards the closed hospital door. Beyond it was Natalie, his physician and his friend. His friend... "What about the clerk?" Schanke shook his head and pulled out his notebook. "Nadda. Theodore Brady, age twenty-six. One shot, right above the ear. You could string the kid up for a Christmas tree ornament, the wound's so clean." "And the gunman?" "Nothing." Nick and Schanke turned to see their Captain. "No witnesses, no weapon, no fingerprints." "Near as I can tell, no one even heard the gunshot." Schanke slapped his notebook shut. "I hate these cases, y'know." Nick nodded solemnly, absently, his eyes still on that door. Natalie was behind that door, Natalie, his friend... "Nat!" The right side of her face was covered with tiny red marks where the minute slivers had been, and she had a bandage above her right eyebrow, but otherwise she seemed undamaged. Nick was grasping her hand, on his knees next to her wheelchair so fast, he all but slid on the slick hospital linoleum. "Nat, I'm so sorry. If I hadn't been so stubborn--" "Don't even start with me," Natalie cut him off. "That's nonsense and you know it." With some difficulty, Nick nodded, thought and pressed his lips to Natalie's hand. Schanke's knowing smirk was so wide, Nick swore it was audible. The doctor was speaking to him. Nick stood up and forced himself to pay attention. "I'm sorry, sir?" "I was asking if you and Dr. Lambert are family, Detective." Nick and Nat shared a glance. "He's... as close to family as I've got." "Then would you take Dr. Lambert home, and see that she gets some rest?" "Of course." "And Nat?" Captain Stonetree looked at her sternly. "Here's some friendly advice: take the next couple nights off." Natalie nodded meekly. Stonetree caught his detective's eye and grinned slightly. "Hey Nick. Make sure she takes it easy, okay?" "You got it, Cap'n." Nick took the handles of the wheelchair and began to push her to the elevator. "I can walk," she protested. "Yes, well, why walk when you don't have to?" Natalie waited until the elevator doors had closed and the machine was going down. "You keep this up and Schanke and all the other gossip mongers are going to have us married off by next May." Unbeknownst to each other, both Nick and Natalie forced down the cold glass balls of pain and regret that were forming in their stomachs. "Come on," Nick said lightly. "After everything I make you put up with, the least I can do is pamper you a little." "Pampering, I think I can stand." Gently, Nick helped her into the Caddy. They didn't talk much on the way to Natalie's apartment. She dozed on and off as Nick drove in silence, thinking of nothing much except how close he had once again come to losing her, thanks to, as he saw it, his own stupidity. If he hadn't made such a fuss over that stupid movie, she would never have been anywhere near that... that ... Nick glanced up into his rear view mirror and froze. Behind them, on a stretch of road the car had just traveled over, was a tall figure. Someone was standing in the middle of the road. Someone that-- Nick pulled the Caddy to a sharp stop, jerking Natalie awake. "Nick?" He twisted around in his seat to look out the back windshield, but there was no one. "Nick, what's the matter?" Nick squinted, but it was no use. There was nothing there. "Nick?" The figure in the windshield had vanished. Nick shook his head and managed a small smile. "Nothing. It's nothing, Nat. Go back to sleep, I'll have you home soon." End Part Two April French daomir_darkfell@yahoo.com ===== ~Forever Knight: The Sons of Lilith~ http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/fkficindex.html ~The Corvina~ http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/index.html "And we shall exist by amusing ourselves, by dreaming of monstrous loves and fantastic universes, by complaining and quarreling with the pretenses of the world..." --"The Flash of Lightening" by Arthur Rimbaud __________________________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Yahoo! Mail Plus - Powerful. Affordable. Sign up now. http://mailplus.yahoo.com Subject: Rear View Mirror (3/?) Date: Thu, 30 Jan 2003 16:00:03 -0800 From: Daomir Darkfell To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Disclaimers in first post. Rear View Mirror (3/?) He made Natalie a cup of tea (staying well away from her microwave; he stuck with the stove and kettle, which stayed relatively the same from century to century), waited for her to change her clothes, and stood at the door of her bedroom while she got into bed. "I'd offer to stay til you're asleep, but dawn's coming and I don't trust your window shades." Natalie shrugged and smiled weakly. "Never mind. Some aspirin and a good day's sleep, and I'll be fine." Nick nodded and turned to go. "Oh, Nick?" "Yes?" he asked expectantly. "What happened to your microwave?" Nick sighed. *** "Damn," Nick swore on his way back to the loft, "there it is again!" He had looked up at his rear view mirror to check traffic, and there in the glass was the tall figure, standing in the middle of four lanes of speeding cars, unheeded by anyone else and apparently unconcerned about being hit. He glanced into his side mirrors, but their range didn't reach far enough around the back end of the car. He twisted around quickly in his seat to look out the back windshield again, but the man simply wasn't there. And yet, when he looked in his rear view mirror, the figure was still present. And no matter how far he drove, the black-clad man was still the same distance away from the Cadillac. About ten metres behind him. Just staring. Nick began chewing on his tongue. It wasn't until he pulled up to his garage that he really got a clear look at the phantom reflection. It was a tall, black-haired man, dressed in evening wear and a black cape. He had intense, pale blue eyes, arrogant features... And a bright green face. @}----- New York City: 1927 At his first sight of the theatrical vampire, Nicholas had to choke back a gale of hysterical giggles. Janette slapped his arm. "Behave yourself, Nicolas!" she whispered fiercely. "But he's green!" "So am I," commented LaCroix, lowly. "This play is making me nauseous." Nicholas rolled his eyes. "This from a man who used to frequent the Théâtre du Grand Guignol?" "Hush, Nicholas." "I can't believe you dragged us out to see claptrap! This is Broadway, they're supposed to do better." LaCroix sighed. Now he understood why sensible parents left their children at home when they went to the theatre. He had to admit, though, a green-faced vampire... In a purple-lined cloak, no less! In London, before the green makeup, the evening cape had been lined in red. Green, red... LaCroix snorted. No wonder they had changed the color. Count Dracula the Christmas Vampire. "Vlad be disgusted," he admitted. Janette smirked. She, like the others, remembered Vlad Tepes well. "And that would have taken some doing." The play, as far as accuracy went, stunk to high heaven. But despite LaCroix, as a piece of drama the British import wasn't all that bad, and it wasn't surprising to see why it had become one of the biggest hits of the season. Nicholas quickly found himself sucked in by the charisma of the deep-voiced Hungarian actor, Bela Lugosi. "He has a wonderful voice," he whispered to his master. "Yes, but notice the oddity of his cadence. He is reciting his lines, not acting them. He can't speak English." Nicholas was very impressed. "Imagine that: an actor who learns his lines phonetically. Now that is dedication." "That is not dedication, Nicholas," said LaCroix condescendingly, "that is stagnation. The man has no idea what he is saying." "But that's what makes his performance so powerful! The titanic presence, the willpower--" "You of all people should know that a pigheaded streak in an actor makes most directors run the other way." LaCroix rubbed at his chin with indecisive fingertips. "And yet, he intrigues me." Nicholas's head snapped around, alarmed. One of the people in the row in front of them, annoyed at the constant whispering, turned around to vent a little frustration. Nicholas and Janette both just gave him a look. He paled and turned back. "I fail to see why he interests you," Janette scoffed. "Certainly not while he's in that greasepaint." LaCroix said nothing, only fixed his two fledglings with the steely, probing glare that told them quite clearly: I have my reasons. @}----- Nick leaned his elbows on the ragtop of his Cadillac. He blinked several times, frowned, and at last shook his head and took his inexplicable experience upstairs. With all the stress this night had brought, he was going to indulge in a well-earned bottle, and to hell with the solid food. All but collapsing into his favorite leather chair, Nick took a swig of cow's blood, and pointed one of his myriad remotes at the stereo. The radio station was halfway through a Meatloaf song, and the green bottle was halfway to Nick's mouth before his tired, sluggish brain focused on the lyrics. And when the sun descended and the night arose I heard my father cursing everyone he knows. <> He was dangerous and drunk and defeated And corroded by failure and envy and hate. There were endless winters and the dreams would freeze Nowhere to hide and no leaves on the trees And my father's eyes were blank as he hit me Again and again and again. You know, I still believe he'd never let me leave I had to run away alone. <> <> <> So many threats and fears, so many wasted years Before my life became my own. <> And though the nightmare should be over Some of the terrors are still intact. I hear that ugly, coarse and violent voice And then he grabs me from behind and then he pulls me back. <> <> But it was long ago and it was far away Oh God it seems so very far <> <> And if life is just a highway Then the soul is just a car And objects in the rear view mirror may appear closer than they are Objects in the rear view mirror may appear closer than they are Objects in the rear view mirror may appear closer than they are Objects in the rear view mirror may appear closer than they are... Numbly, Nick set the nearly full bottle on the floor. He turned off the radio, and spent a sleepless day in the leather chair. End Part Three --lyrics from Objects in the Rear View Mirror (May Appear Closer Than They Are) by Meatloaf and Jim Steinman April French daomir_darkfell@yahoo.com ===== ~Forever Knight: The Sons of Lilith~ http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/fkficindex.html ~The Corvina~ http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/index.html "And we shall exist by amusing ourselves, by dreaming of monstrous loves and fantastic universes, by complaining and quarreling with the pretenses of the world..." --"The Flash of Lightening" by Arthur Rimbaud __________________________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Yahoo! Mail Plus - Powerful. Affordable. Sign up now. http://mailplus.yahoo.com Subject: Rear View Mirror (4/?) Date: Fri, 31 Jan 2003 06:29:22 -0800 From: Daomir Darkfell To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Disclaimers in first post. Rear View Mirror (4/?) Stonetree called Nick into his office as soon as he reached the precinct that night. "How's Natalie?" "I called her before I came in. Bumps and bruises, but she'll be okay." "Hmm." Stonetree looked his detective up and down. "And how are you?" "Sir?" Captain Stonetree shut the door. "Nick, you and Natalie are very good friends." "That's right, we're friends. That's all. And I really don't see--" "That it's any of my business? Probably not." Stonetree sat down at his desk. "But since Richard was killed, Natalie's got no family. And neither do you. According to your records," he added pointedly. He noted the way Nick's gaze slid to a corner before rapidly resuming eye contact. "None to speak of," he replied finally. "Look, I'm not trying to insinuate anything or make you admit anything you don't want to. All I'm saying is that you and Nat are close. Something happens to you, she worries. Something happens to her, you worry. We've got to find this guy, Nick, because this case has just turned into a serial nightmare. I just want to be sure you're on the ball." Nick frowned at this invasion into his private life, but he nodded. "Don't worry, Captain. This is just another case. It's nothing personal." "Good." Stonetree flipped him a piece of paper with an address scrawled on it. "'Cause that's our sniper's second victim." *** Schanke looked over at his partner. Nick had one hand on the steering wheel and the glassy look in his eyes that Schanke had dubbed 'the thousand year stare.' "Nick." No answer. "Nick." No answer. "Earth to Detective Knight!" "What is it, Schanke?" "Nick, are you okay? You've been spacier than normal tonight. Nat's okay, isn't she?" "Yeah, she's fine. She took the night off." "Well, that something. Hey, I've got an idea! How about you and Nat come over for Sunday dinner? Good Polish-Italian cooking. Myra's been pestering me to invite you for weeks." "I don't think so, Schanke." "Aw, come on! It'll take Nat's mind off the sniper psycho, at least. And don't tell me this freaky sun allergy of yours affects your digestive system." "Something like that, yeah." "You can't eat pasta and pirogues, but you can chug red wine like there's no tomorrow?" A muscle in Nick's cheek twitched, and he shot a dark look at his partner. Schanke shut up. "Okay. You've got a drinking problem. I forgot. Sorry. How's that coming, anyway?" "Not well," Nick said, carefully keeping his eyes on the road. He glanced into his rear view mirror guardedly, but saw nothing except the normal nighttime traffic. "But... thanks for asking." "If there's anything I can do to help--" "If there's anything you can do to help, Schank, you'll be the first to know." Schanke sighed. "So, where'd our boy hit this time?" "Outside a drugstore." *** The victim was an elderly woman in her late seventies. "She was shot as she was leaving. According to the manager, she came in to buy a gallon of milk." Schanke coughed in disgust. "This is getting sicker and sicker by the minute." Nick brushed aside the substitute medical examiner and lifted the sheet. She had been a well-kept old lady, he decided. Her silvery hair, before being shot through with blood, would have been a great compliment to her soft blue eyes, now slack and blank. "They always do," he murmured. He raised his voice. "Did anyone see anything? Please tell me someone saw something." Schanke jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "She did." 'She' was a young woman dressed in scanty clothing, obviously reluctant to have anything to do with the police. "Miss? I'm Detective Knight. My partner tells me you saw something." The hooker didn't meet Nick's eyes. "Yeah." She couldn't have been more than seventeen, but Nick decided her reluctance to talk had more to do with the shock of seeing an old lady gunned down in front of her eyes, rather than normal police-related obstinacy. "I was walking... and I looked up and I saw this guy on that roof." She pointed up; it was a half-abandoned apartment building, about ten storeys high. "What did he look like?" "It was dark. I couldn't see much." She shrugged. "It was a white guy with a big gun. I think it had a scope. I saw the guy and then the old lady went down." "Did you hear a gunshot?" "Nope." "Okay, well thank you, Miss...?" "Cassandra." Nick smiled and handed her his card. "If you remember anything else, will you call me?" "Yeah. Sure. Can I go?" She walked away from the crime scene in a big hurry. "You think she knows anything?" Schanke asked. "Nah. She's just scared." "Yeah, well, who wouldn't be, seeing somebody's grandma popped on the way out of a Mom-and-Pop store?" Nick grabbed a passing uniform. "Have the forensics boys check out that rooftop," he instructed. "Yes, sir." On the way back to the precinct, Nick outlined to Schanke the information they had compiled. "So, we've got two bodies, and a witness-- "Albeit a somewhat unreliable witness." "Because she's a prostitute?" "Because she's terrified. You said it yourself." "Okay. Anyway, we've got a witness who says our sniper is a Caucasian male. He uses a rifle equipped with telescopic sight, and possibly a silencer. He kills with one shot and so far, without any pattern." Schanke shook his head. "So, we've got a whole lot of not much, eh?" Nick blinked. Then he sighed. "Looks like it." Just then, he glanced into his rear view mirror. His hands gripped the steering wheel with colossal strength, so tightly that his knuckles turned whiter. he told himself, Nervously, he looked again. It wasn't Bela Lugosi this time. No, now it was a tall, slender man, pale as snow, with a full wine glass in his hand, raised in a ghostly toast. End Part Four April French daomir_darkfell@yahoo.com ===== ~Forever Knight: The Sons of Lilith~ http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/fkficindex.html ~The Corvina~ http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/index.html "And we shall exist by amusing ourselves, by dreaming of monstrous loves and fantastic universes, by complaining and quarreling with the pretenses of the world..." --"The Flash of Lightening" by Arthur Rimbaud __________________________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Yahoo! Mail Plus - Powerful. Affordable. Sign up now. http://mailplus.yahoo.com Subject: Rear View Mirror (5/?) Date: Fri, 31 Jan 2003 06:31:14 -0800 From: Daomir Darkfell To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Disclaimers in first post. Rear View Mirror (5/?) @}----- New York City, 1927 "Come now, Nicholas, you didn't honestly think I would cross the Atlantic simply for the purpose of laughing at a fake vampire?" LaCroix scoffed as he, Nicholas and Janette were escorted into the foyer of an upscale townhouse. He handed his hat and coat to a servant who had materialized from somewhere, as good servants do. "Shall I inform Mr. Rasna of your arrival?" the servant inquired. "At once." The fellow then disappeared, in the manner of good servants. "Rasna?" Janette repeated. "I don't recognize that name. An old friend?" "Oh yes, very old." "Older than you, in fact," interjected a deep, resounding voice. "Good evening, Lucius, it's grand to see you again." Nicholas turned to see the man he had ever seen in his life. Vampires were pale by nature, and he had thought LaCroix possessed of a very pale skin. But this man's hide was utterly colorless, to say nothing of his mane of lightening white hair and well-kept beard. And his eyes... Nicholas thought his mind was deceiving him, but no. This fellow's eyes were The vampire was an albino. "And a true pleasure to see you once more." LaCroix shook the man's hand and smirked. "Winter." Winter lifted a finger to his lips. "Not here," he insisted. "Up here, it's William Rasna. Downstairs, it's Winter. The servants aren't allowed into the basement. Honestly, I think they believe me guilty of tortures beyond the telling of mortal tongues." He ran his eyes over his old friend's companions. "And who are these fine children? Yours, I trust?" "He has many times told us so," Janette replied, only half jesting. Winter kissed the hand she offered, while his eyes roamed over her in open appreciation. "Janette Benoit," LaCroix introduced. "And Nicholas... Dannenberg." "A pleasure," said Winter sincerely. "Any child of Lucius is welcome under my roof." He turned back to LaCroix and looked him over with clinical concern. "Man, you look awful. The last fifteen years haven't been kind to you, have they?" LaCroix's face twisted into a queer expression that Nicholas had never seen before. "They have been as kind as anyone deserves. You received my letter?" "Yes, days ago." Winter held up a finger. "I should warn you right now, Lucius: my prices have gone up. That damnable amendment has made it impossible to earn an honest penny in this country, so I'm afraid I must settle for a dishonest dollar." "Your prices have never deterred me before." Winter shrugged. "Ah, well. It's your wallet." His pink eyes fell on a shadow lingering where no shadow should be. "James!" The disappearing servant suddenly rematerialized with a guilty expression. "That's twice," said Winter sternly. "Twice in one week. Now, do I not pay you well?" "Yes, sir." "And is not this infernal law unjust and unfair?" "Yes, sir." "Well, then. Since you and I think so similarly, I trust I shall have no further reason to be disappointed with you?" James gulped. "No, sir." "Good man. Now get out of my sight." Winter watched the man go with an icy glare. "If he's not careful," LaCroix commented, "I may be purchasing him someday." "Indeed." Winter beckoned to his guests. "Follow me?" Upon entering the cavernous basement, Nicholas realized just what kind of business Winter was engaged in. The walls of the underground room was lined in bottles. Thousands upon thousands of dark green bottles. The thick, salty-sweet smell of human blood, old and new, carefully preserved, was overpowering. Nicholas hung back from the group. He leaned against the cold stones of the dark stairwell and tried to fight the ancient, beastly hunger rising in his mouth. Winter raised an eyebrow. "What's the matter with him?" "Nicholas is of the opinion that it is 'wrong' to drink the blood of humans." LaCroix seated himself gracefully at the large wooden table in the midst of the many wine racks. "He drinks nothing but cow." "Poor lad. Did he get hit on the head as a young fledgling? Fall out of the sky during a flying lesson, maybe?" LaCroix laughed. "Nicolas, come sit down," Janette called. Sweating slightly, Nicholas did so, and sat at the bloodbroker's table. @}----- Even if Nick had been blind, he would still have been able to find the Raven. The club literally sending out an energy that even the most ignorant of vampires could follow. "Where's Janette?" he said loudly, striving to be heard over the driving music. She was in one of the back rooms. "Nicolas! What a nice surprise. Come for a little... relaxation?" Nick shook his head. "I need your help. I think something is wrong with me." "Oh, darling, you're just now realizing this?" "Janette, I've been seeing things. Things in my car mirror. But when I turn around, there's nothing there!" "Maybe that cow blood is going to your head. What are you seeing?" "Things from New York City. When we were there with... with LaCroix in 1927. You remember." Janette did indeed remember. "The play, the blood broker, Bela Lugosi and LaCroix acting oddly. And LaCroix acting unusually is not something one forgets. Then again, it a strange time." "But not so strange that I think about it daily. I've seen Bela Lugosi and Winter in the rear view mirror of my car. And I've no idea why!" Janette stepped around a table with stately ease. "Winter was a friend of LaCroix's. And Lugosi was someone that LaCroix had a good deal of interest in. Maybe you're feeling guilty?" "Guilty? For what?" Janette cocked her head and looked at Nick with a dark, knowing gaze. "You tell me." <> Shaken, Nick left the Raven in a considerable hurry, a nauseous, bitter taste in his mouth. Janette only shook her head. "Oh, Nicolas," she murmured with sad superiority. "When will you learn?" She sighed. "I guess I have a phone call to make." *** In a darkened room, two figures stood to one side as they contemplated a third, lying prone and restless in his sickbed. "The fevers ended over a month ago," the woman reported quietly. "He still has a slight cough, and I think his chest pains him yet." "Understandable," replied her companion, standing a pace or two behind her. "The boy worked him over well, if not professionally." "I'm going to work the dreamy little barbarian over myself!" A long white hand, so pale that it nearly glowed in the dark of the sick room, laid itself placatingly on her shoulder. "Now, Shosha," he chastised, "that's your brother's business. Your responsibility right now is to restore his health." The hand fell away. "You mentioned that he's not been sleeping well?" "He's been dreaming." "Do you know what about?" Shosha lifted her chin slightly. "I have a fair idea." @}----- 1914 "You want to do what? Old friend, have you taken leave of your senses entirely? This is the sort of folly I'd expect from that delusional fledgling of yours--what's his name?" "Nicholas. As for myself..." LaCroix lifted his shoulders in an eloquent shrug. "I'm curious." "You're curious," Winter repeated flatly. He folded his arms across his chest. "About what? No one on this earth, alive or undead knows war better than you. It's the great fundamental difference between us. You like war. I like women. What could you possibly be curious about?" "I don't like war; I like army rations. And I like women too! Besides," he continued more calmly, "I'm not interested in the free food this time around. This is the first great war of a new century, Winter. New weapons, new means of fighting. And as absurd as it sounds, I find myself possessed of a desire to command again. The parade ground, the battlefield..." Winter raised an incredulous eyebrow. "I think you're getting nostalgic in your old age. Honestly, this sounds like nothing more than the vampire equivalent of a mid-life crisis." LaCroix rolled his eyes. "Spare me. Now, can you help me or not? If I'm to fight in this war instead of feeding off it, I can't confine my activities to the nighttime hours. Do you know of anything?" Winter considered the problem carefully. "There is one thing." Briefly, he outlined the properties of albino blood. "You'll need to drink a full pint every twenty-four hours. albino blood," he hastened to add. "Where on earth am I going to find that many albinos?" "You're not. That's my business, remember? Don't worry about it, Lucius. Go offer your soul up to Memnoch and I'll make sure you don't turn into pixie dust on the battlefield." Extremely pleased, LaCroix lifted his glass to his friend with an old Spartan toast. "Breakfast well, old friend, for tonight we dine together in hell." Winter did not return the sentiment. "Just be careful, Lucius. In time of war, the devil makes more room in hell." @}----- As the two stood by and watched, LaCroix tossed fitfully in his sleep. End Part Five--April French daomir_darkfell@yahoo.com __________________________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Yahoo! Mail Plus - Powerful. Affordable. Sign up now. http://mailplus.yahoo.com Subject: Rear View Mirror (6/?) Date: Fri, 31 Jan 2003 06:35:51 -0800 From: Daomir Darkfell To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Disclaimers in first post. This story isn't nearly as long as the other ones. I just don't know how many small parts it has. Rear View Mirror (6/?) Is that what it was? Guilt? Nick leaned his elbow against his piano, picking out random melancholy tunes. Since he had killed his master, not one minute--not one blessed minute--had gone by that Nick had not thought of LaCroix. Every case he worked on brought back some memories of his master, a few of them good, more of them painful, but all of them unforgettable. Even when he finally became mortal, LaCroix, his life... and his death... would always haunt Nick. He would never be free of LaCroix. Perhaps that was the General's final revenge. "A bad bottle of cow blood, maybe?" Natalie suggested. "That's what Janette said. But I don't think so." Nick rubbed at his upper lip, and wondered if this had anything to do with the little gold cigar case hidden away at the bottom of his closet. "There's something else going on here..." "Maybe it's just you. You normally space out during strenuous cases." "Spacing out is one thing, Nat, but I've never hallucinated before. And why the random images? Why 1927? We saw 'Dracula.' I think you know there are no snipers in 'Dracula.'" Natalie put her chin on his shoulder. "Is this why you didn't want to watch the movie the other day?" Nick didn't answer at once. "I never thought about why I didn't like it," he admitted finally. There was a quality to his voice that Natalie found she could not identify. Not sadness, but something more self-depreciating. "I just knew there were unpleasant associations. Most of what I've been seeing has reminded me of...certain things, that somehow I managed to forget completely. A rare achievement for a vampire." To soothe his badly shattered composure, he depressed the keys under his fingers in a series of richly melodic chords. Natalie breathed softly into his ear, spell-bound. "How long have you played?" "About three hundred years. Music... keeps me sane. It reminds me that there is more to me than just a blood-sucking leech." Natalie didn't quite know how to respond. In the intervening silence, Nick's gaze fell onto his big, bright painting of the sun in all its hotness and glory, and a small piece of his puzzle fell into place. @}----- Winter looked up from his bottles. "Mr. Dannenberg!" he exclaimed, very surprised. "Come in, please." Nicholas edged uneasily into the wine cellar. "I'm sorry, did I wake you?" "No, I wasn't asleep. Actually, I was looking for LaCroix." "Ah. Well, I'm afraid he's gone out for the day." The albino gestured to his big table. "Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?" "No, thank you, I'll just--" "I insist!" Winter sprang over the table and bodily tugged Nicholas into a chair. "Believe it or not, I think I may actually have some of your preferred vintage around here somewhere." He disappeared into the racks. It was Nicholas's turn to be surprised. "You stock cow blood?" "Not normally, you understand, but this was a special order. There are a few others of minds like yours scattered around this wide world of ours." Winter popped up from among the myriad bottles, brandishing a very dusty green object. "About twenty years ago, one of my clients ordered two hundred cases of 'prime cut' bovine hemoglobin. And then he had the nerve to go and get himself killed before paying me. I couldn't very well send it back, so I just kept it." As far as cow's blood went, Nicholas decided, it was the best he'd tasted in some time. "I'd better not drink too much. I doubt I can afford your prices. Especially while this Prohibition law is in place." "Don't insult me, Mr. Dannenberg. If I thought Lucius would allow it, I'd let you abscond with the lot of it, free of charge. It's taking up all my cellar space." As he drank, Nicholas noticed an empty bottle on the far end of the table. It caught his attention because it sported a plain white label, instead of the shiny white and gold 'Winterborn Winery' pasted on every other bottle Nicholas had seen. "When did LaCroix leave?" "Hmm?" Winter had gone back to making up LaCroix's order and was only half-paying attention. "Oh, just after sunrise, I think." "Sun?" "Yes." Nicholas's hand tightened on his wineglass, and he set it down quickly. "How is that possible?" Winter looked up, pink eyes wide and slightly confused. "How is... Oh. Damn." He cursed under his breath in a language Nicholas didn't recognize at all. "Oh, he's going to have my bleached hide for this." Winter picked up the plain bottle. "You see this? This is part of the General's private stock here. Not even my vampire staffs know about this." He ran his finger around the mouth of the bottle. "Here," he said, walking around the table and offering Nicholas the few drops. "Taste it." "No." "This is not the time for morals and morality, my boy. A few drops won't break any pledge. Certainly not a taste of this stuff." Reluctantly, Nicholas grasped Winter's fingers and sucked down the blood. Immediately he spit it out, gagging. "That's not blood, that's paint thinner!" "I assure you, it is blood. Albino blood." Winter set the bottle aside carefully to be reused later. "It's the only thing that I know of that can allow a vampire to walk in the sunlight. Now, as you saw, it tastes disgusting. It also isn't one hundred percent effective. The sun's rays still hurt like all hell. But you can move around as you please and not even smoke. Lucius has been stocking this for... oh, ten years or so." "But why?" Nicholas was dumbfounded. It was he who was desperate to regain his mortality, and LaCroix who was just as determined to stop him. It made absolutely no sense. "Why does he have this?" Winter shrugged. "Not my business to say," he said evasively. "Where did he go?" "Out. I think he said something about speaking with some actor you saw last night." @}----- Nick shook his head. What was the purpose of that flashback, he wondered. Something was tug-tugging at the edge of his brain, but it just wouldn't allow itself to be made known. Finally he gave up. Nick turned his thoughts back to his piano and began to play 'Swan Lake.' *** Sleep was hard to come by these days, but Nick still tried his level best. He tossed, he turned... he turned, he tossed... and finally fell out of bed. Groaning, Nick gently banged his head against the floor, disentangled himself from his blankets, and went downstairs. Halfway down the staircase he stopped, confused. There was sunlight streaming into his living room. He crossed the floor and picked up the remote from its table. And then he heard the trickling. Nick whirled around. Sitting on his couch was the palest of pale vampires, impeccably dressed, mane of hair tamed and beard combed, pouring out glasses of blood from slender bottles with a familiar white and gold label. The intruder looked up. "Care for some breakfast?" "Winter." Nick shut the steel blinds and ignored the glass in the older vampire's outstretched hand. "Did you drink your own blood to get here?" "Don't be absurd, Detective." Winter expertly re-corked his green bottles. " don't need to drink albino blood. So. An old friend of yours told me that you've been having some... car trouble?" "That's one way of putting it." "Relax, Detective, please." Winter gestured to Nick's big leather chair. "I'm certainly not going to invite you to sit down in your own home." Warily, Nick sat down. "You're still dealing in 'wines,' I see." He had no real idea how old his guest was, but he had claimed to be older than LaCroix, and vampires that old Nick had learned not to trust. "Of course. What else would I be doing? It's in my blood. Now then... bats in your mirrors?" "What's happening to me?" Nick asked bluntly. "What makes you think I know? It's as odd an occurrence as I've ever heard of. Oh, this is that 'prime cut' beef vintage you liked so much." Nick took the goblet but drank none of the contents. "I saw you in my rear view mirror." He paused, and then admitted, "I also saw Bela Lugosi." "And there's nothing else going on in your life?" His deep voice was flat and only mildly curious, but Nick was still on guard. There was no way of knowing what Janette might have told him. "I'm investigating a series of sniper murders," he said finally. "Hmm." Winter nursed his drink thoughtfully. "Well, to be honest, Detective, I have no idea what's happening to you. But if you'd like some friendly, generalized advice? Stop fighting these flashbacks. I come from a very old culture where dreams and premonitions were taken very seriously. I suggest that the next chance you get, you take a nice long drive. Who knows? Maybe your car will help you solve your case." Winter rose from his chair. "Don't bother to see me out. I can find my own way. Oh, and keep the cow. My compliments." Nick pondered the advice. "Winter?" The albino turned at the door of the lift. "How old?" "Older than the Roman." Winter raised a hand in farewell. "And older than Rome." End Part Six April French daomir_darkfell@yahoo.com __________________________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Yahoo! Mail Plus - Powerful. Affordable. Sign up now. http://mailplus.yahoo.com Subject: Rear View Mirror (7/13) Date: Sat, 1 Feb 2003 06:51:48 -0800 From: Daomir Darkfell To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Disclaimers in first post. Rear View Mirror (7/13) On the way to the Coroner's Office, Nick thought seriously about Winter's suggestion. He often drew on his eight hundred years of experience to help him in his police work, but his grey matter had never taken the initiative on its own before. Why now? And what connection could there possibly be between this sniper and 1927? "Nick." "Yeah, Schanke." "You drove past the morgue." *** "Whoever shot this woman was a pro." Natalie pointed out the bullet hole with a scalpel. Nick noted her calm demeanor and felt a rush of pride for his friend. Stonetree had offered her the chance to back off from this case, but she had refused. It was a testament to Natalie's strength of character. "He knew exactly where to aim to cause instantaneous death. And the angle of entry does suggest that the bullet was fired from a considerable height." "That supports what 'Miss Cassandra' said she witnessed." Schanke clapped his hands together triumphantly. "A break, a break, my kingdom for a break! Stonetree's gonna sing soprano when we tell him this." "Is this consistent with the autopsy from Brady?" Nick asked, tamping down his growing excitement. "Almost a carbon copy. Did forensics find anything interesting?" "Nothing really. Couple of footprints in the gravel on the roof, no bullet casings." Nick rubbed fretfully at his lip, thinking. Natalie and Schanke looked at each other; Natalie just rolled her eyes. "Hey, Knight, how's the weather up there?" He clapped Nick on the shoulder. "Come on, we've got to get back to the precinct." Nick glanced into his rear view mirror as he and Schanke got into the Caddy. Nothing. He glanced again as he pulled out of the parking lot. Nothing. "Nick, give it a rest, okay?" "Huh?" "You keep looking in your rear view like the boogy man's tailgating you. Take it easy; there's nothing behind you. Now, you wanna keep your eye on the road?" Dutifully, Nick wrenched his eyes back to the street and instead let his mind wander. The autopsies were the first real break he and his partner had had on this case. Granted, it wasn't much; they had only one witness, they still had no suspects and not so much as one iota of clue as to a possible motive... Just as he was making a turn, Nick looked up into his mirror. Two men dressed in 1920s-era clothing. One brutally beating the other. @}----- Nicholas and Janette were waiting for LaCroix. As they sat at Winter's grand table in the wine cellar, Janette sipped a fine vintage, but Nicholas was too put out to even think about feeding. Winter was placidly polishing a set of wine glasses. The basement door opened and shut, and a pair of decisive feet made their way slowly down the stairs. LaCroix stopped short when he saw both his fledglings waiting for him. "Did you enjoy your walk in the sunlight?" Nicholas asked harshly. LaCroix stared at his son, his ice-blue eyes closed against all emotion. They briefly flickered to the bloodbroker, who met the Roman's gaze steadily. "I had business to attend to," LaCroix said at last, sliding into a seat. Winter fixed him a glass. "He tasted it?" "He did. And you were right; he couldn't handle it." Winter shrugged. "Ah, well. It's not for everyone." Seeing that Nicholas was about to implode from sheer indignance, Janette hurried to deflect disaster. "Did you see Mr. Lugosi?" LaCroix stared at his drink. "I did." He reached out and slowly took the goblet as though it were some sharp and deadly thing. "And?" "He's insufferably vain and pretentious." And then, "We spoke at length of the war." "Ah," Winter grunted softly. "I thought you might." "He was an infantry captain in the Hungarian army. He also served as a hangman. He spoke rather nostalgically about the thrill he got out of being one, and about how guilty he felt about it afterward." LaCroix pointedly did not look at Nicholas as he said this. "He claims to have escaped death on the battlefield by hiding under a pile of corpses, and was wounded three times before shamming concussion-induced insanity and being discharged." Janette started to comment, but before she could make an intelligible sound, LaCroix had leapt up from his chair with the glass in his hand. Some of the blood splashed onto the table. "The roaring twenties, they call this decade," LaCroix sneered, and tossed back his drink with surprising violence. "The twenties don't roar. They scream. They drip and they fester. They whimper in terror. But they don't roar." Nicholas and Janette stared at their master in surprise. Winter merely raised an eyebrow and refilled the General's glass. "What brought that on?" he inquired calmly. "I saw..." LaCroix's voice skittered and he passed a hand over his face. Alarmed, Janette rose and went to him. She touched his arm--only to have her master jump back three feet in what Nicholas swore was fright. Winter muttered something under his breath. "What did you see, Lucius?" he prompted steadily. LaCroix closed his eyes. When he had composed himself, he straightened, and continued. "I saw a veteran of the Great War. I was walking... He was on the other side of the street and someone bumped into him. The reaction was astonishing. He threw the passerby to the pavement, punched and kicked him..." "Shell shock," Winter said. "Although most of the veterans I've encountered are haunted rather than homicidal. But war affects all men differently." LaCroix shook his head, and when he spoke, the depth of feeling in his voice perplexed his errant son even more than his words. "'And pile them high at Ypres and Verdun. Shovel them under and let me work. Two years, ten years, and passengers ask the conductor: What place is this? Where are we now?' Men are taught to kill in time of war and then are expected to quietly conform to society in the time betwixt wars. All this shifting back and forth... and they just can't adapt." @}----- Nick tried to swallow and couldn't. His mouth was incredibly dry. "Schanke, can I have a sip of that coffee?" Schanke almost passed out from the shock. "Sure." He popped the top and handed Nick the cup. Nick took a swig, swished the hot, bitter brown liquid around in his mouth, then leaned out the window and expertly spit the swill into a passing drain. "Thanks, Schanke, but I prefer decaf." Schanke snorted. "Barbarian." *** They outlined their few findings to the captain. Stonetree was pleased. He knew what his people were up against in this case, and that they had found anything at all was impressive. "So... Have you found any connection between the victims?" "No." Nick shook his head. "Not yet." "Any ideas on a motive?" "Um, let's see." Schanke spread his arms wide. "He's a psychopath?" Stonetree ran a thumb under a suspender strap. "Nick?" Nick worried at a canine with his tongue, and said nothing. "Nick?" "Cap'n?" Stonetree eyed his detective balefully. "Do you have any thoughts on a motive for our perp?" Nick tongued his tooth more vigorously. "Maybe." <> "What if... Captain, what if the murderer was trained to do this? To be a sniper, to kill while staying hidden?" Stonetree stood up, intrigued. "You mean a military man." "But why would he be killing civilians?" Schanke protested. "That's against all military code and honor and stuff." "With enough training, you can wipe away honor." Nick gestured with one hand. "It'll probably be a retired soldier--not an officer, someone low on the military totem pole. And with mental instabilities. Maybe... maybe a Vietnam veteran?" Stonetree nodded. "You check that out, then. Hey, Nick. Since when have you taken up criminal profiling?" Nick looked up, startled. "Huh? Oh, uh... just a hunch." End Part Seven April French daomir_darkfell@yahoo.com ===== ~Forever Knight: The Sons of Lilith~ http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/fkficindex.html ~The Corvina~ http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/index.html "And we shall exist by amusing ourselves, by dreaming of monstrous loves and fantastic universes, by complaining and quarreling with the pretenses of the world..." --"The Flash of Lightening" by Arthur Rimbaud __________________________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Yahoo! Mail Plus - Powerful. Affordable. Sign up now. http://mailplus.yahoo.com Subject: Rear View Mirror (8/13) Date: Sat, 1 Feb 2003 06:54:22 -0800 From: Daomir Darkfell To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Disclaimer in first post. Rear View Mirror (8/13) The next night, Nick spent hours on his computer, checking and rechecking all the military personnel records, both active and retired, that he could get his hands on without raising too many suspicions. He made his partner do the same, and ignored Schanke's pointed yawns and frequent coffee breaks. "Hey, Nick, will you cut that out?" Nick looked up, his blond eyebrows drawn together in a baffled frown. "Cut what out?" "That tapping. You're drumming your fingers on the desk and it's driving me nuts!" Nick lifted his hand to his eyes and stared at the offending appendage. <> "Sorry. Got a song stuck in my head." The computer search found nothing. Fed up, Nick booked off for the night. As he got into his car, he decided to take that nice long drive Winter had recommended--to get his mind the case. He pointed the Cadillac's headlights away from Toronto. The drive seemed to help. The Caddy's top was down, his mirrors were blissfully empty of phantom reflections, and the only bitter taste in Nick's mouth was from Schanke's 24-hour diner coffee. The one thing that marred his endless, aimless, moonlit wanderings was that damn song. <> He couldn't get it out of his head. More annoying, Nick could not remember the rest of the words, or even where he had heard the song before. He shrugged it off as inconsequential, and continued cruising, enjoying the cool moonlight on his skin and the feel of the wind in his hair like a woman's caressing fingers. That day as he prepared for bed, he felt better and more calm than he had almost since LaCroix had died. It was the kind of peace one normally only found as a child, in the tender arms of a parent. Succumbing to that long unfamiliar feeling, Nick willingly sank into sleep. @}----- "Thank you, James," said Nicholas to the servant who had taken their hats and coats. He was in a spectacular mood. He and Janette had been to a fantastic party, he had met many intelligent and beautiful women, they'd both had a fine time and LaCroix had not shown up at some marvelously inopportune moment to spoil anything. It was like walking on air. "Of course, sir," James replied, unimpeachably respectful. "Mr. Rasna asks that you join him in the drawing room." The fire was roaring vibrantly, but Winter was as cold and withdrawn as his name. He was buried behind a newspaper. "Did you two enjoy yourselves?" "Oh, you have no idea how much," Janette said coyly. She licked her lips reminiscently. Winter didn't so much as twitch. "I think this is the first time since we've been here that I've seen you out of the basement," joked Nicholas. Winter only grunted. "Where's LaCroix?" Then Nicholas heard the vague strains of a violin. "In the basement." Winter finally put down his paper. "He's drunk." "Drunk?" Janette repeated, one eyebrow arching in disbelief. "LaCroix?" "Mmmhmm. He's been drinking all night. And I think he drank away all of yesterday as well." He rustled his newspaper dispassionately. "Man certainly can hold his liquor." "Why didn't you stop him?" "My dear, I'd sooner step blindfolded in front of a raging bull. I have no right to interfere with Lucius and his blood and thunder." That was a subtle insinuation neither Nicholas nor Janette could easily ignore. "You go," she whispered, placing a hand on his chest. "He'll listen to you." "I doubt that. LaCroix wouldn't listen to a wooden stake if it was pointed at his heart and backed by a mallet." Abruptly, Winter stood, his pigmentless features taut and indignant. "LaCroix is the reason that you are alive," he said angrily, brandishing his newspaper like a deadly weapon. "And you are his reason for living. Someday, some gigantic thing is going to happen, and either you shall kill him, or he shall kill you. And whoever survives will spend the remainder of his days looking over his shoulder, for the ghost of the murder he regrets above all others. Until then, do the right thing. Go to him." Chagrined, Nicholas went. But as he descended the stairs to the wine cellar, he heard something he'd not heard in centuries--the sound of his master . "'If you want to find the old battalion, I know where they are, I know where they are. If you want to find a battalion, I know where they are, They're hanging on the old barbed wire. I've seen 'em, I've seen 'em, Hanging on the old barbed wire, I've seen 'em, Hanging on the old barbed wire.'" @}----- Abruptly, Nick woke. End Part Eight April French daomir_darkfell@yahoo.com ===== ~Forever Knight: The Sons of Lilith~ http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/fkficindex.html ~The Corvina~ http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/index.html "And we shall exist by amusing ourselves, by dreaming of monstrous loves and fantastic universes, by complaining and quarreling with the pretenses of the world..." --"The Flash of Lightening" by Arthur Rimbaud __________________________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Yahoo! Mail Plus - Powerful. Affordable. Sign up now. http://mailplus.yahoo.com Subject: Rear View Mirror (9a/13) Date: Sat, 1 Feb 2003 07:05:46 -0800 From: Daomir Darkfell To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Disclaimers in first post. Rear View Mirror (9/13) He stood in the street, looking up at the wide, angular building, with the turquoise Cadillac parked diagonally in the joint. The morning sunlight glanced harshly off the strange steel blinds. It was an odd place for a cop to live, he decided finally. It looked like a converted warehouse or factory, which it probably was. All the better. And it had abundant fire escapes. Spectacular. Smiling, he popped a black jelly bean into his mouth. It was nothing personal. It was never personal anymore. But the cop was a threat to his liberty, and that just could not be. So Nick Knight would have to go. He ate a few more jelly beans, chewing thoughtfully. "I think... I'll have some fun... with this one." If he was going to have fun with the cop, though, it would have to wait until tomorrow. Oh, well. That didn't mean he couldn't still have fun tonight. *** Sitting in the quiet, empty Raven, Winter ran his finger absently around the rim of a wine glass. "How is he?" he asked, speaking into the receiver of his cell phone. "He still hasn't spoken or acknowledged me. But the nightmares have abated somewhat." "Good." "Because he refuses to go to sleep." "Ah." *** She spoke with Winter for a few minutes more and then hung up the phone. Padding silently down a dim hallway, Shosha pushed the sickroom door open a few inches. LaCroix was lying on his back in bed, staring at the ceiling, and between his fingers, rolling back and forth, was something that looked like a cigarette. @}----- Ypres, Belgium: 1914 "Cold night, tonight, sir," the private ventured. The sub-commander known as Lucas Cross looked up and eyed the boy expectantly. "Anymore miraculous revelations? It's December, Private," he said blandly, lowering his gaze. Private Christopher Herbert unshouldered his rifle and hunkered down in the trench next to his new commanding officer. "Pretty lady," he commented, seeing the photograph. "Your wife?" "My daughter." Carefully, Cross slipped the picture into a gold-plated cigar case. "What's her name?" Cross tucked the case into an inner pocket of his overcoat. "Janette." "Oh. That's, uh, that's a jolly name. French?" Sub-Commander Cross rolled his ice-blue eyes. "Something on your mind, Private, or is this just a case of pre-battle jitters?" Herbert looked down at his hands. His rifle was cradled easily in the crook of his arm, and his nails were chipped and filthy. "Well, sir. It's just that, everyone says that you're a hard-nosed bastard--" "Thank you," said Cross dryly. "--but a lot of the men from your old battalion have a bloody lot of respect for you, for your expertise--" "My what? Nonsense. All I've done is tried to keep my men from falling into these graves we've dug for ourselves." "They say you're fair and you've got a measure of hard-headed good sense." "I'm not the only one out here with a hard head." Cross tapped Herbert on his dirty blond temple. "What are you driving at, Private?" Christopher Herbert had large, cobalt-blue eyes, wide and wonderfully expressive. "Tell me, sir, because I think you're the only man who'll give me an honest answer: What are we here?" Caught a bit off-guard by the question, Cross only shrugged. "I can't speak for you. Wait! Let me guess. King and country. Home and hearth. A girl, perhaps?" Herbert blushed. "Ah, my sentimental boy. How old are you, Christopher?" "Nineteen, sir." The Sub-Commander exhaled through his nostrils, sending a small plume of vapor into the frozen pre-dawn. "So young. Young and handsome, foolishly idealistic and with enough good intention to pave a thousand roads to hell. Just like Nicholas." "Nicholas?" "My son. You remind me of him." Cross tapped Herbert's chin lightly with his knuckles. "You look like him, too." Herbert smiled. "Thank you, sir." "I never said that was a compliment." "Sir? You're a... er, well sir, you an older chap." Cross snorted. "Why are here?" Cross sighed, and leaned his head against the hard earthen wall of the trench. It was one of the quiet nights, rare along this part of the line. "Because I got nostalgic in my old age." He snorted derisively. "King and country, hearth and home. Glory, God and gold. Glory, glory, hallelujah. This isn't war, this is a wasteland! Sheer waste! And war used to be so much fun." He jammed a cigarette into his mouth but forgot to light it, so the little cylinder just hung there, and rose and fell with his words. "A month ago, my battalion was hiding in a half-ruined barn in France. I was sharing breakfast with a fellow when a shell crashed through the roof." 'Breakfast' was a slight exaggeration, but it was the only one. Cross was chewing the end of his cigarette to shreds. "When I awoke, all around me, my men were screaming and groaning, and telling the world of their hurts. I knew I wasn't dead. But I wasn't sure if I could move. Then I saw my hands. "They were covered with cuts and blood and bits of shrapnel and swollen to the size of plum puddings. I managed to stagger to my feet, wondering whether my breakfast companion had escaped before the explosion. I couldn't see him, but he had left his boots behind. Next to his gun, a solider values his boots most of all. I decided to take them to him. But how? I couldn't use my hands. Perhaps I could lift them in my teeth. So I stooped down... And then I saw that in each boot, a few inches of leg still remained. That was all that was left of him with whom I had been eating breakfast." Cross spat out the remains of his cigarette. "And at that moment, I felt the most profound disgust for the entire race of men." The pale blue eyes closed as the sun spilled over the bloody Belgian landscape. Blood and sunlight--hot, glorious and life-sustaining. And Cross had never in his life felt less hungry or more cold. "You're relieved, Private. Go get yourself something to eat." The winter sunlight had turned Herbert's blond hair and stubbly beard to woven silver and gold. "Aren't you hungry, sir?" For an answer, Sub-Commander Cross pulled out a hip flask. "Drink is my meat." And he took a long, deep swallow. @}----- Oblivious to his sister's watchful eye, LaCroix absently flicked his fingers, sending the unlit cigarette spinning in an arc across the room, and continued staring at the dull ceiling. End Part Nine-A April French daomir_darkfell@yahoo.com ===== ~Forever Knight: The Sons of Lilith~ http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/fkficindex.html ~The Corvina~ http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/index.html "And we shall exist by amusing ourselves, by dreaming of monstrous loves and fantastic universes, by complaining and quarreling with the pretenses of the world..." --"The Flash of Lightening" by Arthur Rimbaud __________________________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Yahoo! Mail Plus - Powerful. Affordable. Sign up now. http://mailplus.yahoo.com Subject: Rear View Mirror (9b/13) Date: Sun, 2 Feb 2003 05:59:38 -0800 From: Daomir Darkfell To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Disclaimers in first post. Rear View Mirror (9b/13) Schanke closed the office door behind him. "Well, it looks like Knight of the Living Hunches has paid off again, because Nick's profile has a match. According to this," and he plopped a thin file on Stonetree's desk, "there a former U.S. soldier with sniper training and a list of psychiatric problems, currently residing in Toronto. Robert Edward Poole. And get this, Nick: the boys down in vice came up with some very interesting little tidbits about your hooker witness. Apparently, she moved to city about eight months ago, the same time as Poole." "That could just be a coincidence," interjected the Captain. "It could..." Nick put his hands in his pockets. "You think there's some connection, then?" "Could be." Schanke paused, then admitted, "But I have no idea what." "Does Poole have any prior convictions?" Schanke perked up. "No, but he was suspected of being involved in a series of similar sniper murders in Washington D.C. about ten years ago. They had to let him go because their only witness ended up dead and they had no other evidence." "You mentioned some psychiatric problems," said Stonetree. "Yeah, well there, Nick was right again. Poole was drafted and set to Vietnam right out of high school. 'Nough said. Eighteen-year-old impressionable kid gets thrown into a war zone, comes back all screwy in the head..." "Totally amoral." Nick rubbed his chin with the back of his hand. "He's been completely desensitized; he doesn't feel anymore. He gets a rush out of killing these random people because it's the only way for him to feel." Nick knew those thoughts; he thought them all the time. It was how he had once defined himself and every other vampire. But he didn't fit into that mold anymore. Unlike LaCroix, who had never felt remorse for anything... @}----- Cautiously, Nicholas removed the bottle from his master's apparently unresisting fingers. "I think you've had enough," he began. In a flash, LaCroix came to life, lashing out and striking Nicholas on the side of the head, sending him sprawling onto the slab floor. "Definitely enough. No more sunlight for you." "Damn the sunlight, give me the bottle!" "LaCroix, you're drunk." "Drunk?" the old Roman sneered. "Oh, yes, Nicholas, I am very drunk. And do you know what? I am going to keep drinking. Until I'm just like Dracula. And can't see myself in the mirror anymore." Still giddy on blood and liquor, LaCroix's eyes were suddenly filled with a desperate pleading. "How long until I can't see myself? How long until I can forget, Nicholas? How long until I can sleep?" The proud General collapsed into his son's arms, sobbing. @}----- Schanke and Stonetree stared at Nick, slightly alarmed. He tried to smile through the flood of shame that was crashing over him like a wave. "Just a hunch." Stonetree shook his head and picked up his phone, which was ringing insistently. "I'll send somebody down," he said after a moment. Captain Stonetree held the receiver absently, listening to the dial tone, before he hung up. Nick got an awful stinging feeling behind his eyes. "What's happened?" "Our only witness is dead." End Part Nine-B April French daomir_darkfell@yahoo.com ===== ~Forever Knight: The Sons of Lilith~ http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/fkficindex.html ~The Corvina~ http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/index.html "And we shall exist by amusing ourselves, by dreaming of monstrous loves and fantastic universes, by complaining and quarreling with the pretenses of the world..." --"The Flash of Lightening" by Arthur Rimbaud __________________________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Yahoo! Mail Plus - Powerful. Affordable. Sign up now. http://mailplus.yahoo.com Subject: Rear View Mirror (10/13) Date: Sun, 2 Feb 2003 06:01:35 -0800 From: Daomir Darkfell To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Disclaimers in first post. Rear View Mirror (10/13) Nick stared sadly at the dead prostitute. Cassandra. Just a child, but she too had gotten a bullet hole behind the ear. And for no purpose. What was the point of this kind of slaughter? @}----- "I joined the British army during the Great War," LaCroix confessed. Nicholas, as he'd expected, was flabbergasted. "LaCroix, I--" "I was curious. I wanted to see how the powers of the world were going to go about this Great War in this great new century. They were calling it the 'war to end all wars.' If this was going to be the last war, I wanted to be a part of it." "Ah," Nicholas snorted quietly, gracing his master with the tight, sideways nod of the head that he used whenever he disapproved of something. "And were you satisfied?" LaCroix opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He took a drink, and tried again. "Not long after I was brought across, I decided that war was fruitful for no one but the vampires. But this new way of fighting... that war profited no one. I've been in many battles, Nicholas. As you have. I had no problems pointing my rifle or pulling the trigger... but I've never seen anything quite so . Men seemed to disintegrate before my eyes. Wave after wave of them rose up out of the trenches and vanished into the morning mist." Working hard to keep his hand steady, LaCroix reached out to stroke his violin, lying on the table between him and his son. "If I wasn't insane before that, I certainly might have been damned afterward. But for this. Music... keeps me sane. As sane as possible." He stood, and nestled the instrument under his chin, nuzzling it tenderly, and drew his bow across the strings in a mournful, vaguely Scottish air. A distant voice drifted down through the rafters. "'I've seen the smiling of fortune beguiling I've felt all its favors and found its decay Sweet was its blessing, kind its caressing But now 'tis fled, 'tis fled far away "'I've seen the forest, adorned the foremost With flowers of the forest, most pleasant and gay Sae bonny was their blooming, their scent the air perfuming But now they are withered and wi'ed away...'" @}----- "He makes no distinction between young and old, men and women," Nick muttered to his coroner friend. Natalie zipped up the body bag. "Just like death." <> <> "What?" "I said, hey, Nick, could you give me a lift home?" "Sure, Schanke." They were both very quiet as Nick drove. "This is the same thing that happened to the Washington P.D.," Schanke grumbled darkly. "And now, we've got nothing but a suspect and a lot of hunches, courtesy of Nick Knight." He smacked his hand against the dashboard. "Man, why can't we get a break?! Seventeen years--who cares if she was a hooker? Nick, what kind of sicko kills a teenage girl? She wasn't even all that good of a witness. You know, I think you were on to something back at the precinct. About this guy Poole having no morals at all." "Yeah, well, morals are funny things, Schank. They're just like motives, or anything else. They can be twisted. What we see as amoral, Poole may see as a... a..." "Crusade?" Nick looked up then, to check his rear view mirror. Instead of a figure standing starkly out of place, this time Nick saw a flash of black and white, a static, blurred image. Only a flash, and then it was gone, replaced by the usual vision of nighttime traffic. It took him a moment to realize what he had seen. It was a painting, from the First World War. A haunting swirl of trenches and barbed wire, called "Death Aids the Dying Solider." @}----- "When I was in France," LaCroix said hoarsely, "the women there would do anything to get into the trenches after a battle. Anything. They fought, maneuvered, bribed and schemed... In their hearts, they thought--they believed that they were fighting their way into the trenches to do deeds of duty and mercy... But it was the embrace of Death their subconscious was longing for. Death, the final triumphant lover." "What?" "You see, Nicholas, that within this high motive was the compulsion to see men torn and bloody and in agony. They were driven, by the need to look upon suffering..." "Like you." LaCroix's supple lips curled up into a snarl. "I was in Europe for a year and a half fighting in that war. And do you know how many times I tasted fresh blood?" He was fumbling for something in an inner pocket. "Once. , Nicholas." The younger vampire saw that the object was a gold cigar case. "And I didn't enjoy it in the slightest, so save your high-and-mighty moralizing for someone who cares!" @}----- "Post-traumatic stress syndrome. Battle fatigue. Shell shock. He's doing horrible things because he's seen horrible things done, and he can't cope any other way." Nick exhaled in disgust. "'Pro patria, non dulce, non et decor.'" *** As she leaned on the bar, Janette turned her head slightly to find Nick with his chin on her shoulder. "Do you know any vampires who fought in World War One?" Janette blinked, startled. "I know one or two, but not personally. Why?" "Oh, just curious." "Nicolas, you are notorious for your curiosity, but you are never 'just curious.' What is it, hmm? Do you think that one of us is responsible for these shootings?" "No, not this time. I just..." Nick shook his head and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "I need to walk to Winter. Is he still here?" "Winter? LaCroix's broker?" "I assume he's yours as well." "Nicolas," said she, eyes somehow both coy and innocent, "I haven't seen him in decades. Why? Is he here?" Nick's boyish smile spread across his face, and in spite of himself and in spite of the situation, he laughed. "Janette, you'd put Scarlett O'Hara to shame." She beckoned him into one of the back rooms, where she greeted him more properly. "Now, be serious," she ordered, pulling away from his embrace. "What is this about World War One?" He nodded his head in that tight, sideways fashion he had. "That's why LaCroix was acting so strangely, that time in New York City. He was suffering from shell-shock." Both Janette's dark eyebrows shot up. "He actually went and enlisted in the British army, and served in France and Belgium for a year and a half." "I never knew about this." "He wouldn't let me tell you. He didn't even want to tell me. It was... seeing him like that, it was frightening." Nick lowered himself into a chair. He felt tired. "Shell shock, Janette. I'd never seen him like that before. He was... irrational, talkative, ... He talked to me about one of his men, an English boy named Christopher, a mortal who LaCroix thought looked just like me, who died... thinking that he was saving LaCroix from a German bullet..." End Part Ten April French daomir_darkfell@yahoo.com ===== ~Forever Knight: The Sons of Lilith~ http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/fkficindex.html ~The Corvina~ http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/index.html "And we shall exist by amusing ourselves, by dreaming of monstrous loves and fantastic universes, by complaining and quarreling with the pretenses of the world..." --"The Flash of Lightening" by Arthur Rimbaud __________________________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Yahoo! Mail Plus - Powerful. Affordable. Sign up now. http://mailplus.yahoo.com Subject: Rear View Mirror (11/13) Date: Sun, 2 Feb 2003 06:04:56 -0800 From: Daomir Darkfell To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Disclaimers in first post. God, is *anyone* reading this?! :-( Rear View Mirror (11/13) Sitting on his bed, Shosha stroked her brother's short white hair. LaCroix turned his head slightly. "Haven't we done this before?" he rasped finally. Shosha sighed in relief, and smiled ruefully. "Once or twice." "Where am I?" "Paris." "How long?" "About seven months." "Seven--?!" Startled, LaCroix tried to sit up. He clutched at his chest and groaned. "Ah... Nicholas..." Shosha bit her lip until it bled. Her opinion of her nephew was not particularly high just now. "You were calling for him in your sleep." "I dreamed..." "I know. I felt them. I thought you were having nightmares about..." Shosha trailed off, hesitant about bringing up the taboo subject. LaCroix coughed low in his chest. There was still a good deal of discomfort in the spot where he'd been run through, but the worst pain was coming from the ribs under his right arm. He raised a hand to the place and winced sharply. "It hurts?" "Like new." "Then it must come out. Lucius," she reproached, "you've waited too long as it is." LaCroix rolled his eyes and turned over onto his left side. Shosha turned back the blanket. "Lift your arm over your head," she instructed, producing a short, sharp dagger from the bedside table. "I know that knife. I bought that for you in Thebes." "You did indeed, Lucius. Ever the romantic." LaCroix chuckled weakly. "Hold still." With spare, skillful cuts, Shosha sliced through the skin and flesh covering the barely noticeable lump in LaCroix's side. She felt his body quivering ever so slightly. "I'm being as careful as I can, Lucius." "I know." @}----- The world had gone insane. Bullets whizzed by LaCroix's ears and punched through his body, but he kept running towards the German line. He knew where every mine in No Man's Land was located, and he did his best to direct his men around them. But the day was a grey-toned nightmare, the guns were screaming, the wounded were screaming and all his men were trapped in an endless bad dream. Only Nicholas seemed to be keeping his head on straight... In his confusion, LaCroix turned to search for the British private. Herbert, from his position on the ground, looked up in time to see a German focusing a sight on his sub-commander. "Cross!" With a burst of speed, from strength he hadn't know he had left, Herbert sprinted across the mine-laden field and stretched out his arm to push Cross to the ground. LaCroix's vision blurred together and spiraled all out of control, but he the bullet as it plowed through Herbert and buried itself in his own chest. He landed on his back with Christopher Herbert draped limply over his frame. The pain and the smell and the stress all conspired to try and steal LaCroix's consciousness. But he would not succumb. "Christopher, listen to me, mon ami, mon fils. Christopher, can you hear me?" It was barely a whisper, the word buried within an exhale of breath. "Yes... "Bon, mon Christophe." He gritted his teeth and began to recite poetry into the failing private's ear. "'It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishment the scroll, I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul...'" Fangs aching, he awoke that night when the moon swept over him, reviving him fully. Incredibly, the mortal was still alive. But not for long--something else was moving insidiously along the battlefield... LaCroix gagged in horror. "Christopher," he hissed, climbing to his feet. "Christopher! Get up." He hauled Herbert upright, pressing a handkerchief to his nose and mouth. But it was too late. The boy had already inhaled a good chestful of mustard gas. @}----- "Once a soldier, always a soldier. But there are some things that even an... old... soldier... cannot steel himself to view with any kind of detachment. And the sight of a boy choking on his own liquefied lungs is one such thing." Shosha worked steadily. The old bullet was in plain sight, but it was lodged tightly between his ribs and she was having a little trouble extracting it. "Did you try to bring him across?" "Of course I did!" LaCroix flinched, fighting down a wave of bile as the bullet finally came out. "He was too full of his own fluids to swallow my blood. That bullet pureed his insides, but in the end, he suffocated." LaCroix reached out and took a healthy swig from the bottle on the nightstand. Immediately he felt the tension in his muscles smooth away, as his flesh melted back together. He flipped onto his back and held out his hand. Shosha gave him the bullet. "Are you going to keep it?" she questioned. The .303 bullet was as long as LaCroix's palm. "Look at it, Shosha. A bullet like this brought down the Red Baron. But it couldn't kill Christopher. He was... made of sterner stuff." He balled his fist around the projectile. "Like Nicholas." Shosha rolled her eyes. "Lucius, give him up! He is an ungrateful little boy who doesn't deserve your consideration!" "No," LaCroix agreed softly, eyes distant. "And yet... he is my child. He haunts me." *** "It's so haunting," Nick murmured, passing a hand over his forehead. "I can't believe I forgot this." "I can." Janette walked around the chair and put her hands on his shoulders. "I find it difficult to believe that LaCroix would do something as sentimental as . That's something I'd expect from you. And exactly how did he avoid the sunlight out on the front lines?" Nick explained briefly about the albino blood. "Ah. I've tasted albino blood, but I'd no idea it had those kinds of properties. Disgusting, but ingenious. "As for you forgetting, Nicolas, why should you remember? Why would you want to remember anything that could damage your belief that we are the great bane of the world, or perhaps convince you that LaCroix was not the all-consuming monster that you perceived him to be? Why would you bother to remember such a thing?" *** One question kept running through Nick's mind as he drove home. He hated what he was, but Janette and LaCroix had always maintained that everything the master did was in Nick's best interests. Nick thought that all LaCroix had wanted was to control him. But had there been more? LaCroix always claimed that mortals were pointless, weak. Lunch. That there was no more than a cosmetic similarity between mortals and vampires. But could there have been more? @}----- "War attracts us by the thousands," LaCroix continued, stroking the raised sunburst on the lid of his cigar case. "But in the eighteen months that I was in the trenches, I met more vampires in uniform on both sides who were there for fighting instead of feeding. We were intrigued, so old, yet somehow so innocent of this new century. And I don't think that any one of us, even the oldest, even the most deranged, was not affected in some terrible way. We still have nightmares, we suffer the same repercussions of month after month in hell... diving for the nearest doorway at the backfiring of a truck... We hope, despair, resent, regret, conceal, disdain... We have scars and demons just as the mortals do." Unconsciously, his left hand came up to rub a spot on his chest, just under his right arm. "Are we any less victims of the war than those whose bodies were torn asunder?" He chuckled humorlessly. "Are we not all the living dead?" LaCroix sighed. "Ah, well. You know what they say, Nicholas: Old soldiers never die. They just fade away... until the next war." "But there isn't going to be another war." "You and Christopher would have adored each other; you both came out of the same mold. Not another war? Cock-and-bull political idiocy. There will be another. And another, and another, just as there had always been. But the next time, I'm staying out of it." @}----- LaCroix had worn the uniform of a British military officer during the Second World War, but so had Nick. And while they had lived in London, LaCroix had stuck to bottled stock so scrupulously that Nick had been tempted to comment. Certainly neither of them had engaged in any official combat. To the best of Nick's knowledge, his master had not returned to his war-scavenging ways until Vietnam. With all the wars of the twentieth century, that sixty-year gap was a telling sign. There were two messages on Nick's machine when he got home. One was Natalie, saying that she'd be over that morning. The other was from Captain Stonetree. "Hey, Nick. Listen, I know you're up to your eyeballs on this case, but I just wanted to check in. You're worrying me, Nick. You promised this one wouldn't get personal. Get some sleep, I'll talk to you tonight." Nick rewound the tape and listened to the Captain's message again. "But it's all personal," he said to himself, and erased the tape. He went to his fridge. Protein shake or blood, protein shake or blood... His nerves were in shambles, so the blood would be a help, and he did have that 'prime-cut' beef vintage that Winter had left behind... but Natalie was coming over. Better to leave the indulgence for another day. End Part Eleven April French daomir_darkfell@yahoo.com __________________________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Yahoo! Mail Plus - Powerful. Affordable. Sign up now. http://mailplus.yahoo.com Subject: Rear View Mirror (12/13) Date: Mon, 3 Feb 2003 05:05:43 -0800 From: Daomir Darkfell To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Disclaimers in first post. Rear View Mirror (12/13) "Are you sure you're in the mood for a movie?" Natalie asked again. Nick rolled his eyes and pushed her onto the couch. "As long as it's not a Dracula film. I'm desperate for normalcy." Nick paused. "What movie?" "'The Shadow,' with Alec Baldwin as Lamont Cranston." "Oh, okay." Nick settled himself in his chair, and then said innocently, "you know, I knew Lamont Cranston." He was rewarded with a handful of bagged popcorn. With kernels dangling from his curls, Natalie couldn't help it. She burst out laughing. And then the power went out. "What the heck?" Nick checked the entertainment system, the lights, the fireplace and the blinds. Nothing worked. "I'm going downstairs," he said, pulling on his shoes. "Maybe a fuse blew out." But the elevator door would not open. Nick began to get that horrible stinging feeling behind his eyes again. He could pry it open, but how good an idea would that be? "It's stuck," he reported, stepping back. Natalie picked up the phone. Who she intended to call was a thought that was never fully formed, because there was no dial tone. "The phone's dead. Good God, even the phone is dead." "Okay, okay, don't panic--" "Oh, let her panic." Nick spun around. "Don't bother looking for me, Detective Knight. I'm not down there." Seeing the speaker mounted above his head, Nick motioned for Natalie to move behind one of the roof supports. "Poole. Robert Poole." "That'll be me. You know, that makes me feel kinda proud. You found me out. Makes me feel like I'm worth knowing." "What do you want with me, Poole?" "Oh, that doesn't matter. But you really wanna know? I want you to get off my back. You go about your business, I go about mine. Everything'll be peachy." "You want me to back off the case. I can't do that, Poole." A scratchy sigh came from the speaker that had been placed above the elevator door. "Yeah, I figured you'd say that. Well, that's okay. See, Detective, I can't stop either. Makes me feel good, doing what I do. Does your job make you feel good, Detective?" Nick closed his eyes, trying to concentrate and hone in on Poole's heartbeat. He was... on the second floor. Nick began to move towards the stairs. "And don't move. At all." Nick stopped. He was trapped under the overhang. "I've got my piece trained on your girl down there, so if you try to see me, all you'll see is... splat." Out of the corner of his eye, Nick saw Natalie gulp and turn pale. He nodded. "Okay. We'll do this your way. Why the speaker?" "I don't like to shout." "Why did you kill Cassandra?" "Damn, you're nosy. You like your questions, don't you? She was there, why else?" "It wasn't because she was a witness to one of your murders?" "Really? Which one? The old lady?" Poole chuckled. "Eh, well. Wasn't the first time." "I know why you're doing this, Poole. Because you don't know how else to cope. You saw some gruesome things in Vietnam--a lot of things. And you can't deal with that, can you?" He heard the shifting of Poole's weight. "I'm only gonna say this once, Detective: ." "You can't make it better, so you figure, why not make it worse? It can only get worse from here, so it better be on my terms, is that it?" "Man, Cop, you must really hate this lady to keep talkin' like that, 'cause my trigger finger's getting real itchy." >From where she stood behind the kitchen table, Natalie could see Poole very clearly, tall and lean, with a shock of brown hair and an army flak jacket. The gun was long and black, and in the shadows Poole stood within, it looked like nothing so much as a snake. Pointed at her. "It is because of what you saw, Poole?" Nick persisted. "What you did? Who you killed? Or is it about who you lost?" The rifle dipped slightly. Natalie's eyes flickered to Nick, and she blinked them once. Encouraged, Nick continued. "What was his name, Robert?" "...Kenny. We--we went to high school together. Got drafted, went to the same boot camp. Went to 'Nam in '72." The gun was still pointed at her, but Natalie realized that Poole's focus was wavering. She began to edge minutely toward Nick. "He was a jackass, but he was my pal. He took a bullet for me, twice. What kind of guy'll take a shot for you twice?" Nick slowly reached out and grabbed Natalie, pushing her up against the elevator door. "A very good friend," he called. Poole was still looking through the scope of his gun, staring at empty space. "You've got no idea what kinda guy'll do that for you, until he does. And gets himself killed..." @}----- Winter tried to refuse the money that LaCroix offered him. "Lucius, honestly. I don't need it!" "But I insist on paying." LaCroix stuffed the check into his old friend's breast pocket. "Take it. Do something with it. I don't care." "This isn't necessary..." "In your opinion." Winter sighed. "Fine," he huffed, folding the check neatly. He looked the Roman over appraisingly. "And how are you?" "I am... surviving." LaCroix shrugged. "It's all I can do." He paused, casting a glance at Nicholas who was studiously not listening to his master's conversation. "If you really insist on giving away your wares, there is something you can do with that money." Winter waited. "You know where I took Christopher's body. Have a tombstone made for that boy." "His grave's on private property." LaCroix looked at Nicholas again. "I know the owner." He shook Winter's hand. "Nobility and stupidity go hand in hand. But what I found in Christopher was something grander. He deserves a marker, at least." Winter nodded, and his smile was one of supreme understanding. "Until next time, old friend." @}----- "...when the chopper took off from the LZ, and took his body with them, man, I just didn't care anymore. I couldn't feel anymore. Except when I was using my piece. Every time I took somebody down, it was like Kenny was still alive. Every time I take some body out, it's like I didn't kill him." Poole shook himself, and cursed. He began moving along the upper level. Nick and Natalie pressed closer to the wall. Nick felt his muscles begin to tense. "Real slick, Detective. Nice and easy. But I'm not fallin' for it. So you know what? Unless you come out , I'm just gonna start shooting. Through the wall, through the floor, whatever's in my way. And this piece of mine'll put a bullet through six inches of steel." Natalie heard an ominous sound. And then Poole fired through the ceiling. "I've got as much right as anyone else to feel like I'm livin', and I'm not gonna let you or anybody else take that away from me!" Another shot blasted at a downward angle and shattered Nick's TV. "Those bastards in Washington, and now you frickin' busybodies!" A shot bounced off the kitchen counter and slapped Nick in the cheek. A growl rumbled through his body, and the rush of heated, indignant blood forced his saffron eyes open and his fangs down. He spat out the red-stained bullet with a ping! Poole loudly recharged his rifle, and Nick stepped out from under the protecting wall. "That's a boy," Poole sneered, and fired. The bullet went straight through Nick's chest, but he barely flinched. Poole blanched slightly but held his aim and fired again, this time hitting Nick in the mouth. Nick spat out a mouthful of crimson fluid, and kept advancing on the staircase. Panicking, Poole's arm shook, and the bullet he had intended for Nick's stomach hit him instead in the groin. Nick threw back his head and roared in pain and embarrassment. Jumping into the air, he flew up the stairs and wrenched the long black rifle from Poole's startled hands. Dropping to a defensive position, Poole tried to defend himself. He lashed out with short, sharp punches, and managed to land one blow on Nick's healing cheek. Snarling, Nick backhanded him across the nose. Poole stumbled back and--before Nick could bring himself under control--tumbled over the railing and crashed to the floor. Horrified, Nick dropped down. Crouching beside the sniper, Nick carefully rolled him over. He never spoke. Poole's eyes closed, and his body collapsed inward, like a puppet whose strings have been cut. Natalie crept out from the overhang and touched Nick on the shoulder. He hung his head, and his chest heaved once before he opened his arms and pulled Natalie into a relieved embrace. End Part Twelve April French daomir_darkfell@yahoo.com __________________________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Yahoo! Mail Plus - Powerful. Affordable. Sign up now. http://mailplus.yahoo.com Subject: Rear View Mirror (13a/13) Date: Mon, 3 Feb 2003 05:08:17 -0800 From: Daomir Darkfell To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Disclaimers in first post. Rear View Mirror (13a/13) Epilogue Nick met Natalie just as he was coming out of Stonetree's office. They looked at each other. "Excuse the pun," said Nick, "but paperwork sucks." "Is Internal Affairs going to bug you about this?" "Poole broke into my home, sabotaged it, threatened the both of us, lost his balance and snapped his neck when he fell. What's there for IA to concern themselves with?" He raised his eyebrow innocently. Natalie refused to comment. Instead she asked, "What about that last bullet?" She smirked when Nick opened his mouth and no words came out. "I'll take care of that one myself," he finally mumbled. As they were passing through the precinct on their way home, someone popped the cork off a bottle of champagne. "Come on, Nick," Schanke jibed, thrusting a paper cup into Nick's hand, "it's a celebration!" Nick pushed the cup away. "I don't see all that much to celebrate about." Schanke gaped at him. "You stopped a maniac, buddy! Come on, give us a toast." "Here, here!" "Come on, Knight!" Natalie gave him a nudge. "Go on." Nick capitulated and took the champagne. He thought for a moment, and raised his cup. "'To a new world of gods and monsters,'" he recited solemnly. *** Before he went to sleep that day, Nick opened a box hidden in the depths of his bedroom closet. From the very bottom, he took out a gold-plated cigar case, about the size of his hand. He sat on the edge of his bed and gently traced the sunburst engraved on the lid. @}----- As they were leaving Winter's townhouse, LaCroix cornered Nicholas in the doorway. He pulled the gold cigar case out of his pocket and shoved it at his son. "Take it," he said curtly. "LaCroix--" "Take it, Nicholas," said the General through clenched teeth. "Take it and hide it away. Don't ever let me see it again." "Why not simply destroy it, if it pains you that much?" "No. No, there must be some tribute. Even great wars are forgotten in time." @}----- With the delicate fingers of a reverent scholar, Nick took out each item from the case one at a time. An old, faded sepia photograph of LaCroix, in the guise and uniform of Sub-Commander Lucas Cross, ramrod-straight, arrogant and proud. Another photograph, this one of the mortal, Herbert. Private Christopher Herbert. Regal, confidant. The resemblance was so close, almost uncanny... A British military-issue identity disc. An eighty-year-old cigarette. Three or four creased and faded letters, in a hand-writing Nick did not recognize. He was tempted to open them, to read them and further comprehend his late master, but he let them alone, fearful that he might damage them if he wasn't careful. A button from Herbert's uniform. A lock of his hair. A German medal, probably from a slain enemy corpse. A piece of shrapnel. A blood-stained handkerchief. At the very bottom of the case, Nick found a single line of writing, scratched into the metal by a painstaking hand. 'Do all things but forget.' @}----- "No, there must be some tribute. Even great wars are forgotten in time. Someone has to remember Ypres, remember Christopher. Someone has to remember, but I can't do it anymore. Let that stand as proof... but keep it away from me. Don't open it unless I am dead. Promise me that much. Perhaps then I shall be able to sleep again. "Take it, Nicholas. And let me forget." @}----- Nick placed the relics back into their tin. If he could put LaCroix's ghosts to rest, he could do the same for his own. He would never forget LaCroix. He would never forgive LaCroix for the pain the old Roman had put him through, and Nick would never be able to thank LaCroix enough for the knowledge and experiences his master had inadvertently brought into his life. He would never forget LaCroix... and that was all right. He sighed; it was a cleansing sigh. "'Do all things but forget.'" He flipped the lid closed. End Part Thirteen-A April French daomir_darkfell@yahoo.com ===== ~Forever Knight: The Sons of Lilith~ http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/fkficindex.html ~The Corvina~ http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/index.html "And we shall exist by amusing ourselves, by dreaming of monstrous loves and fantastic universes, by complaining and quarreling with the pretenses of the world..." --"The Flash of Lightening" by Arthur Rimbaud __________________________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Yahoo! Mail Plus - Powerful. Affordable. Sign up now. http://mailplus.yahoo.com Subject: Rear View Mirror (13b/13) Date: Mon, 3 Feb 2003 05:10:20 -0800 From: Daomir Darkfell To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Disclaimers in first post. So, what did y'all think? Didja like?! Rear View Mirror (13b/13) Secluded in his own lodgings, Winter sipped one of his best vintages in silent thoughtfulness. How incredibly marvelous, that two vampires, two men in such constant conflict, could still be so tightly in tune--even when one thought the other dead--that the nightmares and memories of one could be projected into the subconscious mind of the other, across an ocean and thousands of miles. It was an unheard-of thing! Winter was three thousand years old, and he had never once encountered such a forceful connection. No small wonder, he reflected, that Lucius could not bear to give Nicholas up. They were so closely bound that for one to be too long away from the other would be tantamount for self-imposed torture. "You had no idea what you were getting yourself into, did you, Lucius?" Winter shook his platinum-white head and drained his goblet, picked up his suitcase, and turned out the light when he left. *** In the old dark house in Paris, someone coughed. He had been laying in a sick bed for several months now, in the care--or rather, at the mercy--of his only blooded sibling, his younger sister Shosha. He raised himself up on his elbows. The room was dark, but he had no need for artificial light. He could see perfectly. He could hear as well, and he could hear that his sister was approaching. The door opened, spilling in a modicum of light that radiated from around her dark silhouette. "Lie down," she insisted forcefully. "I think not." In fact, he sat up fully and cast aside his blankets. "My clothing?" Shosha sighed, but gave it to him. "You know, I do believe Nicolas inherited his pigheadness from you." "Don't be absurd. We can't pass on traits like that." Shosha raised a dark eyebrow at her brother. "The blood is the life, is it not?" As he dressed, LaCroix coughed a few more times. His chest still hurt a bit, but most of his worst injuries were gone, thanks to his sister's constant, sometimes brutal care. The memory of his fight with Nicholas was quite literally burned into his mind. But how he had gotten to Paris was an utter blur, and Shosha was not being forthcoming with that information. In any case, he would be fine by the time he returned to Toronto. To confront Nicholas. "You know," Shosha quietly commented, although she knew better than to bring up the subject, "I haven't seen you this bad since 1915." She did not mention how her brother's fingers slipped as he buttoned his cuffs; LaCroix disliked being made aware of his own frailties. She waited for him to begin railing at her in his cold, controlled way for daring to speak about the war. Slowly, he shook his head from side to side. "Years have passed since that war, Shosha. No one remembers anymore the suffering and the grief that decimated an entire generation and changed the face of mortal warfare. The Great War is no longer great. It has become a footnote, to be occasionally taught in schoolrooms and referenced on game shows. Mortals are to horror, and the events that depleted this world like a cosmic vampire have been eclipsed by even more monstrous conflicts." "No one would believe that you could speak of such things so... humanly." "Waste makes me angry. Ignorance and foolishness make me angry. Fools say that vampires are without souls. But it is the mortals who are soulless, consumed by their greed, and who in turn become vampires, regardless of their lifespan." Stiffly, he shrugged into his jacket. "So much waste. So much misery. And yet still it goes on." "There's enough misery in the world already," Shosha agreed. Then she added quietly, "Let Nicolas alone." "He is my son." "Sons grow up, and away from their fathers. Give him up." "I've tried." A beat. "I can't." LaCroix walked behind his sister. "Because what will happen to him if I do?" He extended his hand over her shoulder. She looked. Lying on his palm was the bullet. "This." Shosha tossed her abundant black curls in exasperation. "If you say you must go back, then I suppose you must. I know better than to try and stop you. But Lucius? Please. Don't do anything drastic." "For you, sister, I promise." "Really?" "Shosha. Would I lie?" "You usually do." "Well. There's your answer." Then LaCroix did a surprising thing. It was surprising because LaCroix was not known to be a demonstrative man. He hugged his sister. "To my great consternation, I owe you my life." A pause. "Once again." "You are developing bad habits." Shosha hugged him back. "Ah, never mind. We are Family. As the Americans say, forget it." Her brother's arms fell away and for a brief instant, she saw eighty years' worth of burden in his ice-blue eyes. "If it were only that easy," LaCroix said softly. "I have no regrets about what I am. But the greatest tragedy of our condition is that our memories are infinite. We can 'do all things but forget.'" He brushed his lips across his sister's forehead and left the old dark house. In the dimly-lit street, LaCroix stood for a moment, fingering the old bullet in his pocket. Then he took to the air, resolute in his purpose. Though an ocean away, if he listened hard enough, he could hear the quiet, tumultuous heart of the prize he hungered to regain, periodically thumping in his blood. It was a sound LaCroix knew well, one that he would never forget, no matter how hard he tried. "Nicholas..." ~~~ Hearts so touch'd, so pierced, so lost as mine. E're such a soul regain its peaceful state, How often must it love, how often hate! How often hope, despair, resent, regret, Conceal, disdain--do all things but forget. --Alexander Pope (1717) ~Finis--January 23rd, 2003~ April French daomir_darkfell@yahoo.com ===== ~Forever Knight: The Sons of Lilith~ http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/fkficindex.html ~The Corvina~ http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/index.html "And we shall exist by amusing ourselves, by dreaming of monstrous loves and fantastic universes, by complaining and quarreling with the pretenses of the world..." --"The Flash of Lightening" by Arthur Rimbaud __________________________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Yahoo! Mail Plus - Powerful. Affordable. Sign up now. http://mailplus.yahoo.com